


Friday Night Lights

by ganseys_mint_plant



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Football, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4738205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganseys_mint_plant/pseuds/ganseys_mint_plant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the boys know each other better off the field than on the field.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Exhaustion ached over him and the idea that even after practice was over, there was still another 30 minutes of walking to be done, made his brain hurt.

Patroclus grabbed his unnecessarily large (and heavy) duffel bag, packed full of football equipment. He had managed to (mostly) stuff his backpack inside and he wrapped the shoulder strap around his shoulders so it fit like a backpack, the strap rubbing against his neck and the bag and it's contents slapping against the back of his knees.

It was the height of high school football preseason and Georgia's summer heat, the worst possible combination. The coaches were certain the pain and sweat would be worth it when their champion team went to state, led by the crush-worthy star quarterback, Achilles.

Most of the boys had cars, rotting pieces of steel pickup trucks or fresh-out-of-Detroit sedans. There seemed to be no in between of poverty and high class. In school it was class tension; on the field you were judged by your skill. Could you kick? Could you run? Could you pass? Could you throw?

Patroclus was built for wide receiver in the sense that he wasn't built. He was smaller than most of the towering giants on the field. But he could slip in between players faster than anyone else and his feet were their own mind. Running wasn't a chore: it was freeing. He was still muscular but he didn't need freakishly large arms or insanely toned legs.

The cars honked and blasted country music as they tore out of the parking lot, hitting the accelerator as they hit the county highways. Mothers picked up their freshman and sophomores, still too young to be driving.

Patroclus was the only senior who would be making the walk home, walking along the dusty gravel side of the road, as his fellow players sped by, most likely laughing but never offering a ride. He was used to the work and solitude by now. To have four years of a lonely high school experience gave one mental strength. When you had problems, you had no one to text. No one to vent to. No one to rant to.

Achilles, however, had everyone and everything.

Patroclus had made the mistake of grabbing his phone after practice one day. The amount of notifications was staggering. The texts were from everyone: club advisers, his father, his mother, doting girls trying not to come off as easy yet exuding it, and guys trying to get him to parties.

He was the school's golden boy, and it was easy to see how. Patroclus was smitten and he didn't consider himself so easily swayed. It wasn't just his looks-- though that had been the first thing Patroclus noticed. He spoke with an air of dignity and respect yet, he wasn't always interested in what you had to say. He'd politely ask you to shut up and you'd do it. But the respect thing was what drew Patroclus in. They'd spoken maybe once or twice outside of the required football conversations.

The first time was the phone situation. Patroclus had grabbed Achilles' phone by accident and pressed the power button. As he gaped at the sudden notifications he thought he had, Achilles had come up behind him, smiling. "I think we mixed phones up," he said, simply plucking his out of Patroclus' hands and replacing his phone with Patroclus'. Patroclus stumbled over apologetic words and he got a smile and a nod in return. His own phone was free of notifications. If they had spoken before that, it hadn't been memorable and had been lost to time. But Patroclus doubted it.

But now Achilles was driving alongside him as he left the school parking lot, passenger side window rolled down. "Where are you going?" he called out, causing Patroclus to stop. He'd been expecting taunting and teasing but on second thought, this was Achilles...

"Just home." It was simple enough. Part of Patroclus wanted him to go away, so the risk of embarrassing himself would disappear with the blue Ford pickup, but the other part...

"Want a ride?"

"I'm sure you're busy..."

"I'm actually not. I'm going home to an empty house and I've got nothing planned. You can't be too far away if you're walking." The next words were an order, something Patroclus couldn't refuse. "Get in the car."

He took the bag off his shoulder, tossing it into the cab of the truck and climbing in after it. He shut the door with a little too much force as the old hinges got stuck.

The sound harmonized with the rattling of the engine.

“Where do you live?”

Patroclus turned to the other boy, noticing a distinct difference in his tone. He seemed quieter, less pronounced. It wasn't shy. It was. . . reserved, twinged with exhaustion.

"Um, Rosewood Lane," he answered, watching Achilles' posture.

Achilles watched the road.

"So what's up with your name?" Achilles asked.

"My mom was a Greek mythology professor," Patroclus said. "She's dead now," he added. "What about yours?"

"Greek names are some weird tradition in my family. My mother's name is Thetis--"

"--mother of Achilles," Patroclus finished.

"And she's just as insane," Achilles said.

"I always thought she was more protective," Patroclus said. Achilles finally looked at him.

"You've read _The Iliad_?"

"And _The Odyssey_."

"It's not required reading," Achilles said.

"I guess I'm a nerd then," Patroclus said, turning to watch the road. Fields of tobacco stretched on either side of them, seas of deep green.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Achilles said. Patroclus could see his anxious fingers tapping the steering wheel in his peripheral vision. "So besides reading, what else are you into?"

"Not much," Patroclus sighed, settling back in the worn leather seat. It wasn't particularly comfortable.

"Football?"

"It's just for college applications. I wouldn't say I'm 'into it.'"

"Where do you want to go?"

"John Hopkins," Patroclus said, immediately, without hesitation.

"So doctor school?"

Patroclus nodded, stealing another look at Achilles.

"What about you?"

"I thought about enlisting-- anything to get out of this town."

"So you don't like it here?" That was the most hopeful thing he had heard all day-- that someone else hated the dullness of Small Town, Georgia at much as he did.

"Absolutely not--" He slammed on the brakes at 55 mph, sending Patroclus against the dashboard and Achilles against the steering wheel. "Forget I said that."

"What--?"

"Don't tell anyone I said that," Achilles said.

"I don't understand," Patroclus insisted. It was a valid opinion. But he was obviously afraid of something-- someone.

He sighed, glancing in his rearview mirror to make sure no cars were hurtling towards us.

"You know, you can tell me," Patroclus said.

"My mom barely wants me to leave the city for college. She thinks the tech college is good enough. She'd flip if she knew-- thought-- I was going to leave this summer."

"But you _are_ leaving?"

He hit the accelerator, sending them flying back, soaring past the 55 mph, not letting go until they were doing 80 and Patroclus was gripping the arm rest built into the door.

"How do you feel about grilled cheese?" Achilles asked, recklessly pulling his eyes away from the county highway.

Patroclus wasn't particularly hungry. The humidity and strain of exercising had lost his appetite, as well as the lacking of Achilles' driving skills. But something about another hour of conversation was incredibly enticing.

..........

It was just rides home for a week, leaving Patroclus to walk to the school every morning at 5 am, before the sun was up. It was cooler then, so the walk was less painful. But his gear was still heavy and it was still August.

It had probably never crossed Achilles' mind, and Patroclus couldn't blame him. He had plays to memorize, people to organize, and a life off the field.

And apparently a psychotic mother.

Patroclus had never had the opportunity to meeting Thetis, but over afternoon grilled cheeses they talked about their dysfunctional lives. Achilles' parents were divorced, his father out of the picture and his mother hovering like flies over lemonade. He wanted to enlist in the Army. He had the grades and the physicality but he was afraid of what his mother might do. He wanted to travel. He wanted to do good. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to meet people. He wanted to stop being the Golden Boy and just slip into the background of life. He wanted to get out of town and never come back.

And after grilled cheeses, conversation, and a round or two of Modern Warfare, Achilles would drive him home.

School was starting in a week when Achilles finally offered a ride in the morning.

Again, it was less of an offer and more of a demand.

Patroclus had been running late and was almost to the school when the blue Ford came speeding by, more like a blur. Not even a few yards past him, Patroclus had time to sigh and Achilles had time to slam on the breaks and do a tight U-turn.

"You're an idiot, Patroclus," Achilles shouted across the seats and out the passenger window.

"Thanks," Patroclus said, crossing his arms. The bag seemed to be heavier.

"Why did you tell me you need a ride?" Achilles demanded.

"Because I didn't need--"

"Get in the damn car, Patroclus," Achilles ordered.

Patroclus climbed inside, just like he had the first day. Tossing the bag in first. Climbing in after it. Slamming the old door shut.

Only this time he crossed his arms and set his jaw tight.

"I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," Achilles said, his foot still on the brakes.

"Then what is it? Why do you like me so much, Achilles? I'm nobody. No one! I don't have a car. I'm not popular. I'm not your star tight end--"

He shut Patroclus up with the accelerator, doing an identical U-turn, heading to the school finally.

"It's not pity," Achilles echoed.

Practice was hell. Achilles made them run faster and longer than usual, to the point where even he was winded. He seemed to pay more attention to Patroclus. Every mistake they were called out on suddenly and somehow became his fault. The corrections were always made towards his decisions and his actions.

It pissed him off to no end and for the first time in his life, he wanted the walk home. He wanted to ditch his stupid bag somewhere and just sprint home, thirty minutes becoming twenty.

The idea became more and more appealing every time Achilles opened his mouth.

And after practice, he was walking away from the parking lot, by himself.

The blue Ford, uglier than Patroclus remembered with more chipping paint than usual, pulled up along side him.

"Get in please," Achilles requested, the car drifting with him as he walked.

"No."

Achilles sped ahead and pulled the car over onto the gravel shoulder, jumping out.

He stalked towards Patroclus who was frozen.

"I'm sorry," Achilles apologized. The rest of the football players drove by.

"It's one thing to do all of this--" He gestured wildly to the truck and all of Achilles, "--but to punish me in front of everyone? Come on. That was dick move and you know it."

"I wasn't trying to be an asshole."

"But you were."

"I don't pity you, Patroclus."

A sleek white SUV pulled up alongside them. The window slid down without a sound, and the head coach poked his head out of the passenger side window. Beyond him they could see the defensive line coach in the driver's seat.

"Car troubles, boys?" he called, despite looking only at Achilles.

"No, sir," Achilles responded without fault.

"Mm. You make it a habit of blocking half the lane up, son?"

"Not usually. I was offering Patroclus a ride."

The attention snapped towards Patroclus.

"Have you been walking to and from practice?"

Patroclus sighed, resisting the urge to glare at Achilles, "Yes, sir."

"That's quite the dedication. I'll remember that."

How many times had the coach driven by Patroclus? Was he now noticing because of Achilles?

"Now get in Achilles' truck and head on home," Coach ordered. The window rolled back up and Patroclus watched the SUV go.

"Come on," Achilles said. "I bought Colby Jack cheese last night."

"Just take me home," Patroclus said, walking towards the truck. He was in the cab faster than Achilles, whose thoughts had frozen him in place for a moment.

Achilles started it back up and the truck started down the road.

As they entered the heart of the town, where Achilles lived, Patroclus spoke again, "Home, Achilles."

"I'm not letting you go home mad at me," Achilles said, his lips a hard line.

Patroclus gave a little huff. There was no winning this.

They pulled up in front of the house: an old, restored Victorian with a white exterior whiter than the picket fence out front. Achilles' lemon of a car looked out of place in it's pristine, freshly paved driveway.

Neither of them got out. They stared at the unopened garage door through the windshield.

"I'm pissed at you," Patroclus stated.

"Why?" Achilles countered.

"Because I just am. You're infuriating."

"So are you," Achilles said. Patroclus could feel his gaze.

"I don't like being bossed around."

"I don't like stubborn people."

"I don't like you," Patroclus insisted. But it came out more like an unconvincing mumble. "We've talked. Now take me home."

"Are you mad at me still?"

"Yes."

"Then grilled cheese."

" _I don't want your grilled cheese!_ " Patroclus shouted. "I'll walk home." His head snapped to look at Achilles and he leaned towards him, trying to look vicious. "I'll walk home."

Achilles was looking down though at their hands. Their fingers were touching and the second Patroclus noticed they burned like a red-hot fire. He pulled his own hand away, holding it against his chest like it really had been scorched.

"I didn't--" Patroclus started.

"Let's just go inside please," Achilles said, tightly. His eyes were still watching the seat, where they'd just-- What was that?

Patroclus was out first, Achilles meeting him at the door, keys in hand.

Patroclus watched him open the front door. His hands were shaking.

They were a mess today.

They stepped inside the house, the air conditioning cool the sweat covering their bodies.

"Grilled cheese," Achilles echoed, walking into the kitchen. The size of the house always struck Patroclus first. His family wasn't poor but they certainly didn't own this.

A chandelier lit the foyer which guided guests to the stairs or the living room/dining room/kitchen open concept area. There was an office and the garage beyond that.

Upstairs were three bedrooms and two bathrooms, just enough for Achilles and his mother.

Pots and pans clanged together in the kitchen, catching Patroclus' attention again. He wandered in the direction of the cacophony, his Nike flip flops adding to the sound.

Achilles was kneeling in front of the fridge, rifling through a drawer muttering "cheese."

"What is it?" Patroclus asked, walking around into the kitchen.

"We-- I can't believe-- I swore--" He looked up at Patroclus, the most honest look in his eyes. "We're out of cheese."

"You said--"

"I know! I did! I bought cheese _last night_."

"So where'd it go?"

"Maybe my mom took it?"

"What would she do with cheese, Achilles?"

"Eat it."

"Dumbass," Patroclus swore, turning away from Achilles.

The next ten seconds happened in a flash of movement.

Patroclus had turned around but Achilles had pulled his attention back towards him, a hand on his wrist, light and gentle.

Then Achilles kissed him. It wasn't the other way around. Patroclus was frozen. He hadn't been expecting any of it. On second thought, he should have been expecting it. It was the pinnacle of dramatic irony. In the heat of their hate, Achilles was most attracted to him.

He had hoped for it; fallen asleep at night dreaming of it. Patroclus had never thought about the fact that Achilles was a boy and this was as gay as it came.

It took Patroclus far too long to relax and lean into Achilles. He was truly hopeless when it came to all of this.

Achilles was the one who stepped back in the end.

Patroclus could run for miles but he couldn't handle ten seconds of a kiss. He was winded, unable to breathe, while Achilles stood there, eyes wide, half scared, half thrilled.

"I didn't--" "You didn't--" "Are you--" "I'm--" "Don't say sorry," Patroclus said, leaning back against the counter. His fingers curled around the edge looking for some sense of stability.

"I'm not," Achilles said, stepping to stand in front of Patroclus. "I'm not sorry. I just don't want to ruin this."

"You didn't. Not with this. With this morning, you-- you could have been more elegant," Patroclus said. "My legs hurt, Achilles."

"No pain, no gain," he smiled.

"I seriously hate you."

........

They had five days of after-practice grilled cheese and kisses.

Patroclus got better with the physical stuff and Achilles got worse with the emotional stuff.

"When school starts--" Patroclus would start. "I don't know," Achilles would finish.

And they'd move on.

Only school had started and they didn't have any idea what they were doing. Achilles would pick him up every morning before school and drive him straight home after practice, neither of them up to anything after a full day of school and then football practice. Besides, Thetis would be home and Achilles seemed intent on hiding Patroclus away.

He didn't quite mind. He wasn't ready to be out just yet. What would his parents think? His absent parents. . . Patroclus wanted to think they'd be okay with it. But he knew better than that.

Achilles was in the same position, that much he had confessed.

The last day of practice was a Friday hotter than usual. Achilles picked him up, absolutely radiant, despite the sweat beading on his forehead.

"I want you to spend the night," Achilles said.

"And meet your mother?"

"She's out of town," Achilles said, looking at Patroclus across the seat. "I want to fall asleep next to you."

"Are you sure? That she's out of town--"

"Yes," Achilles said, nodding. Patroclus threw his seat belt off, sliding across the scorching leather. And even though they were just barely outside the town limits, Patroclus kissed him, just on the cheek, mustering all the thanks he could and putting into the five seconds his lips lingered on Achilles' tanned cheek.

"What was that for?"

"Trying."

...........

Patroclus spent the afternoon at home, with Achilles promising to retrieving him before dinner time.

He spent most of it panicking and pacing in the little back room of the trailer that he called home, unsure of what the night would bring.

When Achilles pulled up in the truck, Patroclus was sitting on the front porch, next year's backpack (the same as last year's) filled with clothes, topped with a toothbrush, rather than school supplies. He didn't waste any time getting inside.

"So how do you usually spend your nights?" Patroclus asked, his long legs, stretched across the seat. His bare feet ran up and down Achilles' thigh, his shoes deserted on the floor of the truck.

"Video games in all honesty," Achilles confessed.

Patroclus tipped his head back so the top of his had was against the glass of the window.

"Occasionally I go running--"

"Where?" Patroclus asked. Today's football practice hadn't left him completely exhausted and part of him was itching to run a mile or two.

"Usually out in the country," Achilles said.

"Go there," Patroclus said.

"You're in jeans," Achilles pointed out. Patroclus dropped his right leg off the seat and kicked his bag of clothes idly. "Alright." A light smile was resting comfortably on Achilles' face.

They drove in silence for ten minutes or so before Achilles pulled down a gravel road. The truck shook and jumped with every bump. He finally put the truck in park when they pulled up in front of a tiny fishing shack along a tinier stream. It in a clearing, shaded by willow oaks and towering white pines.

"What is this place?" Patroclus asked.

"My uncle used to fish a lot," Achilles said. "He doesn't much anymore so I've taken over the place. Not that he knows, of course."

They climbed out of the truck and Achilles showed him the shack, which was really just three walls and a roof, looking over the stream. Achilles testified that there was plenty of fish in the mucky water.

Patroclus changed in the shack and took off sprinting as soon as he was done. Achilles took a few minutes to catch up to him, and Patroclus had to slow just slightly for him to even accomplish it.

They ran in silence following an unofficial winding path carved between the trees and underbrush. The sun was changing from white light to oranges and purples when Achilles finally skidded to a stop, Patroclus stopping as soon as his reaction time caught up.

"We should head back," Achilles said.

"I have no idea how to get back to where we parked," Patroclus laughed, bending over. He let his arms dangle, fingers barely touching the ground. The pain in his chest was beautiful, a representation of accomplishment.

"We'll just follow the stream," Achilles' voice said.

Patroclus raised his head. Achilles was standing over him, head cocked to one side. Patroclus straightened up, throwing his arms loosely around Achilles' shoulders.

He unashamedly stared at Achilles' indescribable eyes, never wanting the moment to end. They could hide in the forest for the rest of their lives, becoming ugly hermits, and spending their eternities away from the judgement of others.

Achilles stole the kiss from Patroclus, his fingers at Patroclus' waist.

They were at peace.

Together, they moved to the ground, Achilles resting his head in the leaves, Patroclus on top of him, straddling his hips, with his lean runner's legs.

Patroclus pressed kiss upon kiss on Achilles, playing with his golden hair, particularly bright against the dull dirt.

The kisses strayed, and Patroclus trailed his kisses across Achilles' cheek and down the side of his neck. He turned his head, complying with Patroclus' control.

Achilles tensed up.

"Hell no!" He tossed Patroclus up, jumping to his feet. He took of sprinting. " _SNAKE!_ "

Patroclus' eyes caught on a snake, striped black, yellow, and gold, and his four years of Boy Scout training sent him running after Achilles, tripping on his feet at first.

They were both screaming, Achilles louder and Patroclus with laughter. It could have been a coral snake, and venomous, but in all likelihood it was just a harmless king snake.

"The golden boy is afraid of snakes?" Patroclus taunted as soon as he was caught back up with Achilles.

Achilles glared at him. They settled into a steadier pace of running, following the stream until they reached the shack.

They jumped into the car, Achilles starting the A/C immediately. It hit their faces after a few seconds and Patroclus sighed in relief, draping himself across the seats, his head in Achilles' lap. Achilles had thrown his head back, a smile glued to his face.

"I love you," they said in unison. Their eyes met the others in an instant. Achilles ran tough knuckles along Patroclus' dark skin.

They were content.

Achilles put the truck in reverse and they pulled out of the forest, back onto dirt roads. Patroclus was still laying across the seats, examining the stain-spotted ceiling. Achilles had left his right hand on Patroclus' shoulder.

"Achilles," Patroclus started. "I don't want to hide at school."

"I know," Achilles said. "I want you by my side."

Patroclus' heart soared. Achilles tipped Patroclus' head up, just to get a glimpse of the blush on his face.

Because of the time he took to stare at him, admiring everything about Patroclus, he didn't have the time to swerve out of the way of the semi in their lane, hurtling towards them at an increasing speed.

The driver was just as distracted as Achilles.

The difference was, only the driver would survive the next few seconds.


	2. On the Topic of Patroclus

A servant flies through the dining hall, a little bird in a forest of towering trees, standing out because of his speed. He landed at Achilles' side, whispering a request from Peleus. Achilles nods and looks to Patroclus, looking particularly dull tonight. In the boy's defense, he was still getting used to Achilles' intense schedule-- the running, the fighting, the swimming, the courts, the lessons-- something Achilles had done for thirteen years whereas Patroclus had only had a few weeks.

Achilles rises, standing above everyone else, a position that he feels so comfortable in. It's more than comfort-- comfort meant content. He was more than content. Standing above others made him feel powerful. This was where he belonged. Call it ego, but he knew it was more than that. He knew the others felt better when they were below him.

"Patroclus, let's go," Achilles orders down. Patroclus raises his head, his eyes blinking a couple of times, a sign that his exhaustion had reached a new level. Achilles steps away from the bench, striding through the hall with confidence-- not a forest to Achilles but rather a sea parting before him. He can feel Patroclus in his wake, like a shadow.

They escape the noise of the hall and dive into the halls echoing with footsteps of people they couldn't see.

"I'm going to see my father," Achilles says as they reach the end of a hallway. To the right is Peleus' room, to the left, everything else.

"Would you like me to join you?" Patroclus asks, his hopefulness apparent. And Achilles had considered it, up until this moment. The messenger had never mentioned Patroclus however.

"No. You need to sleep," Achilles decides. "Go back and I'll see you in the morning."

"What does your father want?"

"I wish I knew," Achilles sighs. The worry consumes him as he walks through the halls and it's because of Patroclus. His mother's growing resentment towards Patroclus was hard enough, but if his father decided the same, Achilles doubted Patroclus would remain his companion for much longer. There was no other explanation as to why Patroclus would be left out of the invitation.

What could Patroclus have done to anger Peleus? It wasn't possible-- Patroclus barely left his side. They could have been knitted together and barely noticed any change. He wasn't complaining; Patroclus wasn't strong or fast but he made up for it in wit and boldness that most were too afraid to display before a prince.

Achilles passes the first set of guards who don't even flinch at his presence. He knocks on the wooden as he stands in between the second set.

"One moment," his father's voice calls, only with slight hesitation. Achilles takes a step away from the door, assuming it will open from the inside for him.

Another round of what-ifs passes through his mind as he waits.

What if Patroclus is being sent elsewhere?

What if he's been discovered of having committed a crime to egregious to spare?

What if?

What if?

What--

The door opens and a girl, hardly older than Achilles himself, steps out, her clothes thrown on without a care. He's seen her before-- in the kitchen, he recalls. She slowly passes him, her eyes sliding down him. She carefully and calculatedly brushes against him, and he doesn't flinch or shiver. She's not the first one to have done it and he knows she won't be the last.

He feels nothing but a bursting sense of pride.

"Enter, son," Peleus calls from inside. "And shut the door."

His father is stumbling out of the bed, headed for glass of wine, his tunic somehow still perfectly in place. Achilles is grateful for that.

"Wine?"

Achilles merely shakes his head. He wants to remember every detail-- the beginning of the end. The beginning of another term of loneliness, because he's sure his father is about to issue the order of execution for his happiness. He hadn't minded it before because he'd never know what it was like to have someone there for him. Someone who was more than just a blind, doting exiled son or a lusty kitchen girl.

"Can I ask why you've summoned me?"

"You left the boy," Peleus notes, nodding in approval as he falls into a chair. The wine sloshes, but never falls over the rim of the cup.

"Your message didn't mention his name," Achilles says, seating himself across from his father. "I ask again: why have you summoned me?"

"I ask you yet again: why Patroclus?" Peleus asks.

But how could Achilles describe him without sounded obsessed or dependent?

"He's unlike the other boys. He has a desire to learn and to get better, as well as serve me, but not like the others. He does not want to be a slave. He wants to be independent, but he needs me to become so."

"Yet, I see no benefit for you," Peleus says.

"He serves me well and faithfully. For what more could I ask?"

"Do you sleep with him?"

"He shares my room--"

"Achilles," Peleus presses.

"No," Achilles says, shaking his head free of the growing images in his mind. He's spent too many nights dwelling on them.

"Yet you've never taken a girl to bed."

"Father," Achilles begs, "I hardly see how this is relevant."

"If not Patroclus or a girl, who?"

He can feel his face running red. He tries not to see the girls looking at him. He tries to gently push them off him in the halls. But why? Why does he wait?

He waits for Patroclus.

"No one," Achilles insists.

"You do not need to lie to me," Peleus says, almost like a laugh. It's just a joke to him. Achilles cannot lie to his father; it's a sin against the gods and against his own heart.

"You will believe what you will," Achilles states, trying to move past.

"Patroclus is hardly the ideal companion, Achilles," Peleus adds, "so he must be good to you."

"Not in that sense," Achilles mumbles.

"Does he wait up for you?" Peleus asks. Achilles lifts his head, his eyes following his father's gaze out the window. The sky is darkened, the moon shining kindly down into the room.

"He always does," Achilles says. Maybe his father is too drunken to remember the conversation in the morning.

"The girls from the kitchen await you as well," Peleus laughs, the loud sound echoing in the room.

"I'll ask them to form a line then," Achilles says, rising. His father falls into another fit of laughter and Achilles smiles lightly to hide his discomfort. "May I go then?"

"Yes, yes," Peleus insists. "Do not keep our dear Patroclus waiting."

Achilles flees his father's chambers, racing through the halls, flying past the boys leaving dinner, the girls awaiting them at the ends of corridors, and the servants cleaning after them. They all step aside for him though.

He skids into his own room, opening and shutting the door as quietly as possible though. He turns around, falling against the closed door.

Patroclus is, indeed, asleep, his chest rising and falling in at an eerily slow rate. His skin, darker than the rich earth, is shining in the moon's light. Achilles silently thanks the gods for the perfect angle of the light. He has one arm thrown across his stomach, the other tucked behind his head. And he's not smiling, but he's not frowning either. He's still a boy though-- a boy to be filled in and completed in time.

Achilles crosses to Patroclus, considering his father's words in his mind.

Patroclus was his companion, bound to him, his.

Achilles climbs onto the bed, placing his hands on either side of Patroclus' neck, flat on the bed. He places his knees beside Patroclus' hips, and lowers his lips to just barely above Patroclus' slightly parted ones. He could have Patroclus as he pleased. He could demand whatever he wanted and Patroclus would do it.

"You are mine," Achilles whispers weakly. He can't even believe the words himself.

He does not want to be a slave. He wants to be independent. . .

He'd said the words himself, and he knew it to be true.

Patroclus was not Achilles'. Patroclus, and his kisses, his lips, his skin, his long legs, his curly hair, his love-- all of him belonged to Patroclus. Achilles could not take. Achilles would not take. Not this time.

Patroclus remains asleep and Achilles watches him at peace for a moment.

When exhaustion settles over himself, Achilles leans back, careful to avoid falling onto Patroclus-- how could he explain this?

As soon as he's off the bed, he feels safe and secure in his secret yet again:

The best of the Greeks is still a virgin.


	3. Patroclus: Kitty Collector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm obsessed with Neko Atsume(who isn't?). So Neko Atsume!AU.

Briseis was Patroclus' life support and in exchange, he provided the roof over her head. 

Pat couldn't even make coffee, and whatever Brie did to their coffee made it taste fresh out of an espresso machine. Brie's career in photography was off to a rough start and Pat's trust fund still had the same number of digits as when he turned 18. 

In biology, they were mutualistically symbiotic: two separate and different organisms that worked in a mutually beneficial way. 

Biology was on his mind the morning the first cat appeared. Though, as Brie would later explain, Snowball had been a resident of their dingy back porch for at least a month now, eating their table scraps, and playing with a cat toy from the dollar section of Target.

There was an open, overly-highlighted Biology book in one of Pat's hands and a mug of Brie's coffee in the other.

He was mumbling definitions to the vocabulary words highlighted in blue, pacing the open first floor to their little bungalow, when he heard the soft tapping at the window. But he was determined to cram in as much about genetic variations before his Bio 301 test at noon, so he ignored it. Distractions couldn't be afforded when there was the possibility of a pop quiz.

"Brie!" Pat shouted. "There's someone at the door."

He had never heard her tumble down the stairs so fast. He looked up, expecting to find her lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Instead she was flying towards the sliding glass back door, obviously trying to hide something.

Pat set his armful of stuff on the table, looking past Brie at the puff of white that seemed to blend in with their snow-coated back porch.

"Is that a cat?" Pat asked. 

"I swear I didn't bring him here," Brie said, facing him. The cat waltz away from Briseis, still trapped outside in the cold, towards a red ball lying among the snow. "He just kind of showed up."

"Have you been feeding it?" Pat asked, moving parallel to the cat. 

"Just here and there," Brie said.

"We're going to be overrun with alley cats, Brie," Pat moaned.

"He's the only one I've seen!" Brie protested. Pat crossed his arms, watching the cat repeatedly pounce on the ball, which seemed to be frozen into the snow. 

"What's his name?" Pat asked, trying not smile or become overly invested in this cat that was going to have to go.

"He-- it doesn't have a name," Briseis said.

"You named it Snowball didn't you?"

"Damn it," Brie mumbled. Pat turned back at her, smirking in triumph. "He just looks so alone."

"The cat can stay on the porch," Pat decided. "And we can toss some blankets and actual cat food out there."

"Are you sure he can't come in?"

"Pushing it, Brie," Pat said, reaching for his textbook.

"Got it."

He listened to her retreating footsteps and tried to focus on his textbook but his eyes kept drifting back to the cat, still attacking the unmoving red ball.

...........

There hadn't been a pop quiz which put Pat in a decent mood. Brie pointed it out the second she climbed inside his car after their afternoon classes.

"Does that mean I might be able to sneak another toy into the cart?" Brie asked, nudging Pat's arm with her shoulder. She was affectionate with him but not flirtatious. She knew he was gay and respected it. But they were asked if they were dating more than where they lived. 

"No squeaky toys," Pat mumbled. "His knocking is obnoxious enough."

There was a small, independent pet shop downtown, close to campus, and Pat had always, admittedly, wanted to go inside. He'd had a cat growing up-- Lyssa, named after the Greek goddess of rage, anger, . . .and rabies. She was a grouchy, old soul from the time she turned two to her death Pat's senior year. He didn't miss her much but he couldn't turn away little Snowball, who seemed to be Lyssa's foil.

The two wandered inside the shop. Brie was a ball of energy from the moment they stepped onto the icy sidewalk.

"Could we get him a collar?"

"It's still a stray, Brie. If anything we should be putting up posters--"

"You're no fun," she sighed, running her fingers along the tiny collars that lined an entire shelf. Pat caught her by the elbow, dragging her towards the food. 

"We're just getting food, Brie--"

"Can I help you guys find something?" Pat froze, Brie still stumbling after him, one arm outstretched towards the collars. They looked insane. At the end of the short aisle was a college-kid, holding a puppy under each arm, their feet pawing at empty air, searching for the ground.

"Yours or mine?" Brie mumbled, just loud enough for Patroclus to hear.

"Brie!" Pat snapped. The "yours or mine" game began at their first night out as roommates. Their waiter at the cheap pizza place had been gorgeous-- jaw-droppingly-- but so clearly straight. Yet, Brie had asked him on who, between the two of them, had the better chance at taking the waiter home after his shift.

"I'd say it's equal," Brie whispered.

"I'm sorry?" the employee asked. One of the puppies yapped.

"Cat food," Pat grumbled, glaring behind him at Brie, who was smirking coolly. 

"Aisle four," the employee said. "My name's Achilles. Ask if you need any help with anything."

Pat dragged Brie towards aisle four. 

"Really?" 

"He was cute," Brie mused, as she browsed the bags of cat food. Pat rolled his eyes, leaning against the shelves. He'd barely put all his weight against it when he went tumbling back with the entire display. There was no covering up the massive crashing sound, which was echoed by the kennels in the back exploding with barking. 

"Shit," Patroclus swore, cans of tuna digging into his back. He tried to sit up and just fell back into the metal shelves again. Achilles came flying around the corner, dog-free this time. 

"I am so sorry," Brie managed to sputter between her giggles. "I swear we'll help clean up."

"It's not a big deal," Achilles said. "I'm sure you broke a few hundred dollars worth of stuff but at least it won't be on my ass."

Achilles stepped forward, offering Pat a hand up.

"Are you okay?" Achilles asked. Pat nodded as he stumbled to his feet.

"Actually, I have to go," Brie said, speaking louder than necessary. 

"Where?" Pat asked.

"I forgot I needed to see a professor and his office hours end in 15. I'll catch you later," Brie called as she hurried out the door.

"Your girlfriend must not like cleaning," Achilles said, pulling the metal aisle back up like it weighed nothing. 

"She's not my girlfriend," Pat said, defensively. 

"Seriously?" Achilles asked, eyeing the window where Brie could still be seen walking along the sidewalk.

"Roommate," Pat said. "Best friend. Cook. Coffee-maker. But not girlfriend."

They began picking up the scattered tins of cat food and dog toys, putting them back in their proper places. They worked quietly. 

To both of their surprise, the damage was minimal and nowhere near a couple hundred dollars. But Pat insisted on paying for the tins of tuna he had crushed with his back and the cracked plastic tubes for a hamster maze on display, in addition to a bag of food for Snowball and a little mouse toy.

"I'm sorry about the mess again," Patroclus sighed as he signed his name on the receipt. 

"Phone number for joining our rewards program?" Pat rattled off his number as Achilles punched it into the register. "And It's perfectly okay," Achilles said. "I just hope our fragile shelves won't scare you away from coming back."

Patroclus smiled as he slid the receipt across the counter. When he lifted his eyes, Achilles was staring back at him, in a way that made him realize that Achilles was totally his-- not Brie's.

..........

"It's rude to ditch your friend in the midst of a social crisis," Pat said, dropping the bag of cat food in Brie's lap. She was lounging across the couch, watching some MTV reality series. 

"He was totally into you right?" Brie asked, already heading for the kitchen. Patroclus dropped his things at the table.

"No. Not really," Patroclus lied, opening his laptop and settling in for an evening of studying. 

"You're lying," Brie said, measuring out a heaping bowl of kibble.

His phone buzzed.

Brie slid the door open, letting in a gust of cold air.

"Shut it!" Pat cried, as he unlocked his phone.

It was a text from a strange number: I lied. We don't have a rewards program.

Achilles.

He could feel his face turning red.

"Why are you blushing?" Brie asked over the sound of the door sliding shut. 

"No reason," Pat said, shutting his phone off and turning it over. He still had to study. He had to-- text Achilles back.

It was compulsive almost. He managed to flip through a few pages of his epidemiology textbook before realizing he had learned nothing. His mind was on Achilles, holding the puppies, helping him up, and how many times had their hands brushed while they were cleaning up? 

He was a train wreck. He sent a response: Well I'm just glad I gave you my actual number. 

............

He wanted to keep Achilles a secret from Brie-- to make it something in his life that he didn't share with her. Something that was just his. 

But she didn't like secrets and she most definitely didn't like it when he texted when she was trying to bore him to tears with a Nicholas Sparks' movie marathon a week after the pet store incident.

"That's enough," she said, snatching his phone out of his hands, mid-text. She sniffled a little, clearing the tears from Ryan Gosling's moving confession of love. Pat scrambled to steal it back but she held him back with a strong arm and nosy determination.

"Achilles-- the guy from the pet store right?" Brie said. Pat fell back on the couch. "He seems to really like you."

"We're just friends," Pat said, smashing a pillow against his face to hide his embarrassment. The phone landed on his stomach with a thud.

"You're so in love," Brie sighed. Pat tucked the phone under his back, protecting it from any more of Brie's prying. "So why haven't you gone on a date with him?"

A soft knocking at door caught both of their attention.

"Maybe it's Achilles," Brie giggled as Pat rolled to his feet. "How romantic would that be?"

Pat flipped the switch, illuminating the back porch and revealing seven cats lounging on the porch without a care in the world.

The food bowl that had been teaming when Brie set it out an hour earlier was now empty. 

Snowball was pawing at the door, another cat attacking his red ball, still encased in snow.

"What is it, Pat?"

"How much of that food bag is left?" he asked.

"Like maybe a day's worth," Brie said, joining him at the back door. "Oh."

"You didn't think it was odd little Snowball had gone through a bag of food in a week? Or did you know about our additional visitors?" Pat asked, glaring at her. 

"I think you chose the wrong major, Pat," Brie said, hesitantly. "You should have been a lawyer."

"They have to go--"

"They're just hungry!" Brie said.

"The land lady will have a fit!"

"She'll understand--"

"No, I'm pretty sure this violates our rent agreement," Pat sighed. 

"Look on the bright side, Pat," Brie said, hanging on his shoulder, a smile lacing her lips. "Now you have an excuse to see Achilles."

That actually sounded horrid to him.

.......

It was easy to get along online but face-to-face could be something completely different. 

Pat didn't want to lose their witty text conversations just because he was useless at reality.

But Brie would kill him if he didn't come home with another bag of cat food and a date with Achilles. 

It was just his luck that Achilles was actually working when he stopped by after his class on neurology. He found Achilles in the middle of an enclosed area towards the back of the store. Puppies were swarming him, tumbling in and out of his lap.

"This is a surprise," Achilles smiled when he heard Pat's awkward footsteps. 

"So you're good with the ladies and the puppies?" Pat asked, leaning against the fence. It looked relatively stable.

"We both know one of those isn't quite true," Achilles said, pointing to the door to the enclosure. "I know cats are more your thing. . ."

"I don't have a preference," Pat said, as a little basset hound came bounding towards him. Pat scooped him up, rubbing dog's soft velvet ears between his fingers. "See? Good with the puppies and the kitties." He sat across from Achilles, and soon the puppies had split themselves between the two boys.

"You came for more cat food?" Achilles asked.

"How'd you know?" Pat had never told him about the horde of cats at his back door.

"Briseis? I'm mispronouncing that--" 

"Actually no. . . How'd she get your number?" Pat asked.

"She must have taken it from your phone. She threatened to castrate me if I hurt you," Achilles said. 

"I am so sorry," Pat mumbled. A black lab nipped at his sleeve, capturing his attention.

"Don't be," Achilles said. "I'm flattered that she thinks I have a chance with you."

Pat flicked his eyes up. Achilles, with his eternally-tanned skin and gold-spun hair, had more than just a chance. 

"I get off in an hour," Achilles said, "and it's almost dinnertime."

"I can stick around," Patroclus said, not bothering to hide his nearly-obsessive stares anymore.

"Cat food," Achilles said, jumping to his feet. Pat followed, momentarily startled. What had he expected to happen? They'd lean across the swirling sea of puppies and kiss?

Brie had corrupted him with her romantic movies.

This was the real world and he was just waiting for the tragic ending.

..........

"If you really want to get rid of the cats," Achilles said, "put the food on your neighbor's porch. Then bam! Not your problem."

Pat smiled, rolling his eyes to look for their waiter. He wanted to get the check before Achilles insisted on it.

"What are you majoring in?" Achilles asked. "I realized that I never actually asked."

"Pre-med," Pat said, turning his attention back to Achilles. "And I just got accepted at the medical program at John Hopkins."

"So you're a genius?" Achilles asked.

"Among other things," Pat said as the busy waiter tossed the check on the table. They slammed their hands on top of it at the same time. Achilles' was on the bottom though.

"I was faster," Achilles smiled.

"Can I get the tip at least?" Pat asked. Rich was one of the other things he had going for him and he felt horrible letting Achilles pay. Achilles, who was working for maybe a dollar or two above minimum wage.

"Fine," Achilles conceded, tugged the piece of paper back towards him. 

He tossed $30 on the table and then slid out of the booth.

"Come on," Achilles urged.

"I said I'd get the tip," Patroclus argued.

"And $30 more than covered the tip," Achilles said. "Very generous for the poor service." He grabbed Pat's hand, dragging him to his feet and towards the door.

"Where are we going?" Pat asked.

"I'm going to get rid of your cat problem for you."

.......

"This is not seven."

"Okay, there definitely wasn't that many here this morning," Pat said, in defense of his counting ability. There was at least a dozen cats stretched out across the porch and now spilling over into the yard. 

"You're stuck with them now," Achilles said, looking around the house.

"You said you would get rid of them," Pat protested, chasing after Achilles, who was admiring Brie's photographs that hung on the wall under the stairs.

"Brie did these?" Achilles asked. Patroclus stepped up beside him. 

"Yeah," he sighed, his mind still on the cat infestation.

"They're brilliant," Achilles mused.

"She only works in black and white," Pat explained. "It captures lines and little details much better. She just sees things in this brilliant way."

"I like this one," Achilles said, pointing at a print of profile shot of Patroclus. He was smiling, one of the few good ones Brie had ever managed to get of him. Achilles looked back him. "You look nice when you smile."

"Nice?" Pat asked, unimpressed with his word choice.

"I'm not a poet, Pat," Achilles admitted, leaning against the wall. Pat stepped up to him, tucking a hand at the base of Achilles' neck, and drawing Achilles' lips to his. 

It was hardly a perfect kiss. A perfect kiss would have them some place a little more private, without cats on Patroclus' mind, and their movements a little less clumsy. 

But it was a hell of a first kiss. 

The sound of the sliding glass door was the only thing that stopped Patroclus from doing this for the rest of his life; kissing Achilles felt more natural than breathing.

"Called it," Brie said, stomping inside the house to shake the snow out of her boots.

"Why were you outside?" Pat asked, running his fingers through his hair.

"Hi, Achilles," Brie smiled, tossing her snow gear off piece by piece. A camera hung around her neck.

"Hey," Achilles said, a certain smugness to his voice.

"What were you doing?" Pat asked.

"Taking pictures of the cats," Brie said. "Did you get the cat food?"

"It's in the car," Pat said. "I don't understand why they keep showing up though."

"I should get going," Achilles said. Pat turned back.

"Bye," Pat said, awkwardly. He wasn't about to kiss Achilles again with Brie now there.

Achilles gave him one last charming smile before heading out the door.

..........

The puppies became his stress relief. Patroclus ended up spending his hours after class in the little pen, reading and taking notes, with the puppies resting their tiny heads on his arms, legs, and textbook corners. Achilles would drift by and check on them as he made his rounds around the store.

The mystery of the ever-present cats hadn't been solved and it had been weeks. But they had reached the end of their decline. At any given point in time, the porch could be cat-free or home to a dozen. But their visitors rotated, coming and going as they pleased. Snowball still seemed to be their most frequent guest, though.

Brie was under strict orders not to name them, and even stricter orders to start hanging up "Found Pet" signs around town.

He knew she disobeyed. He knew that with every photograph she took of those cats, she also assigned them a name. And the wall of photographs was more like a cat gallery these days.

"Do you ever not study?" Achilles asked as he entered the fenced-in area.

"It'll pay off one day," Pat said, looking up from his notes. His head hurt from highlighter fumes and their fluorescent colors. 

"Can you take a break?" Achilles asked. 

"With you?" Pat asked.

"I just clocked out. It's past five, Pat," Achilles said. He held out an expectant hand, pulling Pat to his feet, and helping him gather his things. 

They left the arena of puppies, and headed towards a staircase at the back of the shop. A velvet cord hung across, barring access to the public. Achilles unclipped it and continued to pull Pat up the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Pat asked.

"We are going to my apartment now," Achilles said. The spiral stairs hit a landing but they continued to climb until they were on the third floor. "The second floor is all office space," Achilles explained. "The third floor is an actual loft space which the owner lets me use. In exchange, I listen and make sure the zoo downstairs doesn't get too out of control."

There were two doors in the apartment: one to get into it and another for the attached bathroom. Otherwise, it was all open, and just the sort of quiet place Pat saw Achilles living. The walls were sparse with decoration and the floor mostly void of furniture but there were little mementos and trinkets everywhere. 

"We traveled a lot growing up," Achilles explained. "My father got bored being in one spot and he'd pack us up and leave." Pat nodded, inspecting a model of the Parthenon. "It usually coincided with him getting into some sort of trouble with the local law but--"

He cut himself off. Pat turned around, staring back at Achilles.

"What?" 

Achilles shook his head, tossing his hair into an even messier tangle than it was before. "I just didn't think I'd fall for you this hard."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Pat said, strolling up to him. "It's not a bad thing, right?"

"No," Achilles said, running his fingers down Pat's cheek. "It's most definitely not." But there was a still a mournful sound to his voice.

"What did you have planned for this study break?" Pat asked, trying to shake them both free of the fog they had descended into.

"Basic biology," Achilles smiled, restored back to his usual splendor.

"Oh?"

"I might not be pre-med but I do know something about the nervous system."

"Teach me," Patroclus mumbled. Achilles wrapped his arms around Pat's waist, pull him close, his lips inches from Pat's ear.

"When you fall in love, your body's neurons releases a ton of different neurotransmitters but mainly, dopamine, which is the exact same neurotransmitter that cocaine messes with. It rewards your brain and makes you deliriously happy. So in a sense, being in love is like being high. You're my cocaine, Patroclus. I'm completely addicted to you."

...........

There was coffee on the nightstand but before Pat had even taken a sip he knew it wouldn't be as good as Brie's. It was admittedly very good and dragged his senses out of sleep.

It was his fourth night in two weeks waking up in Achilles' bed, only this morning the apartment was a little too quiet.

He looked around and found Achilles was missing, probably downstairs attending to the creatures in the shop. 

He pulled the blankets, which were already in a messy disarray, away from the bed as he padded across the room, looking for something more substantial than coffee. The kitchen was usually neat and tidy and today only two things tainted it's surface: a cup of coffee with an official looking form resting underneath it.

Pat tried to walk by-- he really did. But the devil on his shoulder insisted that it was probably a DMV form and harmless to look at.

Harmless it was not.

More like a grenade, right on the verge of exploding.

..........

Pat didn't want to be the insanely jealous lover who ruined everything over a secret that he could understand why Achilles was keeping. At the same time, it infuriated him, but depressed him moreso.

Achilles appeared a few moments later, after Pat had read and reread everything over a few times to make sure he wasn't going insane. He heard Achilles enter but he sat still on the edge of the bed, his back to Achilles.

"Good morning," Achilles said, jumping onto the bed, shaking it. He wrapped his arms around Pat, making him flinch. Achilles sat back, pulling away. "Are you okay?"

Then he must have seen the form.

"Oh," Achilles mumbled. 

"You could have told me," Pat said, turning back and tossing the form at Achilles. It fluttered lamely through the air. "I-- I--"

"You wouldn't have minded? Trust me, you would have. You would have stayed away. And I would have understood."

"I don't know what I would have done," Pat admitted. "But it's just frustrating that you didn't tell me you're enlisted."

"I joined the Navy before I met you," Achilles said. "Long before. And I've signed my life away, Pat. I have to go."

"I don't want you to go," Pat mumbled, turning back. He knotted his fingers into fists, trying to stop the tears. He wouldn't cry in front of Achilles. But Achilles pulled him further onto the bed, wrapping him in a hug, and forcing the tears out of him.

It was a pathetic scene but Pat didn't care. It wasn't fair that Achilles was being snatched away from him. 

"You're going to John Hopkins and I'll be in Virginia. It's not that far," Achilles reassured him, with his fingers tangled in Pat's hair. 

"It's not the distance," Patroclus mumbled. "It's the fact that you'll be in danger."

They stayed wrapped in each others embrace for a very long time.

.........

He couldn't go home and he couldn't go to class.

His headphones blasted a sad indie song into his head, clouding his thoughts with a mournful sound. It was a cold day for March and he had stolen one of Achilles' more expensive-looking jackets on his way out the door. 

Patroclus wandered the city that he considered home, getting lost in parking lots and parks that he had never noticed.

In a month, he'd be graduating, if he managed to survive his thesis paper. In four months, he'd be at his first classes, on his way to becoming a surgeon. 

And Achilles would be fighting his way through boot camp and probably learning how to take out targets from a thousand feet away. His brain shook up images he had seen in war movies. Only the Tom Cruises and the Brad Pitts were replaced with a battered Achilles without life in his shimmering eyes.

Would he be good at killing? The Achilles that Pat had met holding puppies and who kissed Pat like he was the fragilest thing on earth couldn't possible pull the trigger on any weapon, knowing it'd end someone's life.

Patroclus wiped a stray tear away from his face before it could freeze to his cheek. 

He had to go home.

The world was too cold for him.

..........

He started running as soon as he saw the red and blue lights flashing against his neighbor's houses. 

He sprinted when he saw the cop cars in his driveway. He hadn't run like that since senior year gym.

The police at the door tried to block his entrance but he slipped past them like they were nothing. Because they were nothing-- at this moment Brie was everything.

He pictured one of the cadavers in the anatomy lab lying on the kitchen floor splattered with blood with Brie's serene face. That was the worst case scenario.

But she wasn't dead. There was a bit of blood coming from a gash on her forehead but she was on the couch, Achilles at her side. They were both okay.

He didn't stop until he was kneeling in front of her, spewing questions.

"I'm okay," she said, with tired eyes.

"Achilles, there's a first aide kit in the bathroom upstairs," Pat said, covering Brie's shaking hand with his. Achilles was gone in a flash. "What happened?" 

"I was out back checking on the cats when I heard I crash inside," Brie said. "I looked inside and there were two guys. And so I called the cops. Then I called you but you didn't answer so I called Achilles and he said he was nearby and he came and I don't know what he did but it scared them away before the cops got here."

"How'd you get this?" Achilles came back, setting the first aide kid down beside them. Pat started digging around inside it, until he found the little pen light.

"When I heard the crash, I hit my head on one of the pipes outside," Brie said, shamefully. Pat laughed, checking for a concussion. She was clear. 

The wound wasn't as deep as he had thought, and so he was able to wrap it up without a trip to the ER. Achilles never left, but he was pulled away by police who were snooping around the apartment.

"So those stupid cats saved your life?" Achilles asked as he finally shut the door on the last of the police officers a little after five that night. 

Pat had an arm around Briseis who was pressed into his side.

"Don't feed those cats' ego," Pat mumbled. Brie was slowly succumbing to sleep.

"Yes," she mumbled.

"Time for bed, Brie," Pat said. 

"Can't move," she said. Achilles stepped up, scooping her into his arms. "You're very muscular."

"Thank you," Achilles smiled. 

Pat fell back, laying across the couch. He was suddenly exhausted too. Their TV which had been mounted on the wall was missing.

He groaned and closed his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Achilles' voice asked.

"Tired," Patroclus said.

"I could carry you too." Pat opened his eyes, sitting up.

"Can you stay the night?" Pat asked. It was hard to be mad at Achilles.

"Of course," Achilles said. "But we're not both going to fit on that little couch."

Achilles pulled him to his feet, guiding him up the stairs to his room.

Pat fell back onto the bed, dragging Achilles down with him. They kicked off their shoes and climbed under the covers, speaking in whispers for awhile before Achilles closed his eyes. 

With sleepy vision, Pat watched Achilles fall asleep with peace on face. 

Achilles was too good for any war.

..........

The house had been reduced to boxes of eclectic sizes.

It was depressing to see everything he owned encased in brown.

Brie had decided to go out west with a photography friend of hers. They were hoping to get a charter from some magazine to photograph poverty in New Mexico. It was noble cause and Pat had already pledged a lifetime subscription to whatever magazine published Brie's excellent work first. 

Her stuff was already gone.

She had gone with a kiss earlier that morning, leaving Pat on their saran-wrapped couch, staring out the back door.

The cats were gone, having left when Brie stopped setting out cat food every six hours. Brie was gone. Pat's world was changing and so far it wasn't for the better.

There was a knock at the back door. He jumped to his feet instinctively, prepared to shoo a cat away.

But it was Achilles, holding Snowball in one arm and a carrying crate in the other.

"I'm not taking the cat with me," Pat declared, crossing his arms. He wasn't going to open that door, no matter how much Achilles smiled and begged with his eyes. "No way."

Achilles bounced Snowball up and down in his arms. The cat mewed, butting his head against Achilles' chest.

Patroclus slid the door open and Achilles let the cat drop to the floor as he swept Pat up in his arms, kissing him senseless.

"What's that for?" Pat asked, still slightly dazed by Achilles' eagerness.

"Just because," Achilles said. "Because your plane leaves in 27 hours, 38 minutes, and 42 seconds if everything is on time and because you look as though you might cry because of that fact."

"You made it up," Pat said.

"The seconds I did," Achilles said. 

"And for the record I was going to cry whether or not you showed up or not."

Achilles pressed his lips together in a sad line.

"You're taking the cat with you," Achilles said. 

"No, I'm not," Pat said, exhausted already.

"I looked at your rent agreement. Cats are allowed," Achilles said.

"I don't want a cat," Pat countered.

"No but I do and I can't have a cat," Achilles said. "So I'm going to loan you Snowball until I can take him back."

Pat rolled his eyes as Snowball rammed into his leg with his head.

"I'm working long hours--"

"He's a faithful companion," Achilles said. He placed a hand on Pat's cheek. "And a promise. I will come back for that cat."

"You better," Pat said, pressing his hands to Achilles' olive cheeks.

They both looked down as Snowball rammed into their legs.

It all started with the stupid white cat.

It only made sense that it'd end with him too.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! My name is Alex and I'm new to the TSoA fandom so any feedback you can give me on this is awesome! And if you like it, I might do more of these little oneshots. Thanks for reading and I'll see you around!


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